The Captain's Memoirs
by Tabitha12
Summary: By Mary and Amanda. Day On series. When Carolyn Muir and Daniel Gregg get the same idea at the same time, Confusion is the result!


_**The characters from The Ghost and Mrs. Muir — Daniel, Carolyn, Candy, Jonathan, Martha, Scruffy and Claymore belong to 20th Century Fox, David Gerber productions, and Josephine Leslie (R.A. Dick). Lord Charles Dashire belongs to Mary and Amanda.**_

_**No infringement is intended, no profit is made, and the characters will be returned unharmed from whence they came. This story is for enjoyment only. All characters, plots, story lines and development of GAMM characters belong to the authors, Mary and Amanda, and may not be used or changed without express written permission.**_

_**This story takes place during the run of the show in between canon GAMM episodes **__**Amateur Night**__** and **__**Curious Cousin**__**, which take place time-line wise after **__**Getting to Know You**__**, and Dash's first visit to Gull Cottage in **__**Birthday Toast**__**, but before Daniel sends his family away and Dash and Claymore bring them back again in Amanda's story, **__**From This Day On**__** — The first tale **__**written**__** in the saga — Therefore, none of the Muirs have met Dash, and Daniel and Carolyn cannot touch yet. :-(**_

_**Thank you to all our readers for their continued interest in this series, and to Kathy, who was talking to Mary when the "I wonder who asked who to write the memoirs" question came up!**_

_**Mary and Amanda**_

**The Captain's Memoirs**

Mary and Amanda

**Late February, 1970**

_If there is anything I have learned, _Carolyn Muir reflected,_ since moving into Gull Cottage almost two years ago, now, is that Captain Daniel Elias Alexander Gregg — that is the SPIRIT of him _(she kept reminding herself) _has to be one of the most fascinating, gifted storytellers I have ever heard in my life. Of course... _her thoughts went on as she snipped a thread on the jacket that she had just finished repairing for Jonathan. _It helps when you have great material..._

"What happened after that?" her son demanded. "Did you ever run into Mad Basil again?"

"'Course he did, Jonathan!" Candy interjected. "Don't you remember? The Captain told us that story last week. He..."

"Was that before or after your first encounter with Fat Philippe?" Martha interrupted. "Oops. Sorry, Candy, I got excited, there; I didn't mean to cut you off at the pass! But you have to remember — you three are two years ahead of me, and I am still trying to catch up. The Captain's stories are more exciting than my Errol Flynn movies."

"You bet!" Candy and Jonathan cried together.

"But it's only been a year for me, remember, Martha!" Candy reminded her. "Just wait until he tells you about the time he wrestled the alligator — and when he and his two best crewmen fought off a whole shipload of mutineers, during..."

"It wasn't a whole shipload, just a few," The mariner replied, holding up a hand. "And they weren't mutineers, exactly — just men going mad from being stuck on a becalmed ship with a cargo of stinking hides for far too long. Doldrums in the extreme."

"But there WAS a nutso cook," Jonathan protested. "You said so — and you, that Lord guy..."

"Dashire," Daniel supplied. "Lord Dashire."

"Yeah, and Mister Casey..." Candy cut in.

"O'Casey, I believe, Candy," Carolyn said quietly, reaching for her darning egg and one of Jonathan's socks.

"Your mother is correct," Daniel agreed, turning to the beautiful woman sewing under the lamplight. "Dash, Sean, and I soon had matters in hand. Fortunately, it did not take us long to calm them. But we are getting off track here. Did you want to hear the rest of the story I started?"

"Even if they don't, I do!" Martha grinned. "Come on, Captain Gregg. What happened after you tore up the tattoo parlor?"

"Well, then comes the most fascinating part of the tale..."

Carolyn Muir looked at her watch. The children should have been in bed at least twenty minutes by now, but it WAS Saturday night, church didn't start until ten the next day, the television was broken again, blast it, and another half hour or so wouldn't really hurt. _Maybe after they go to bed, Daniel... I mean THE CAPTAIN can finish that story he started telling me last week before I ended up running the Amateur Night show... _Carolyn thought. _Can't get into that one now... it's definitely geared more for adults! Sharing a glass of Madeira as a nightcap would be nice, too..._ With a sigh, the Lady of Gull Cottage relaxed, put her sewing aside, and listened as Daniel Gregg continued his tale, his rich voice carrying her away to strange and exotic lands.

XXX

Much later, after a nightcap with Carolyn, finishing his tale started the week before, and when all the members of his human family had retired, Daniel moved restlessly around his house.

_Odd, I never noticed how long and lonesome the nights were during the hundred years that had passed before the Muirs moved in. Daylight and night were really no different. Time simply was. Now..._

"Woolgathering, Danny?" a cheery voice cut into his musings. "You didn't even sense my arrival. You must have some deep thoughts going on in that head of yours."

The Captain turned to see his old friend, Charles Dashire grinning at him.

"Dash! I was just talking about you!" Daniel beamed.

"Has Sean O'Casey returned to port at last, then?" the Englishman wondered aloud.

Daniel shook his head. "No. I haven't heard from him in years."

"Blast. So, to whom were you speaking when discussing this most enthralling of topics?"

"I was entertaining my fam... the Muirs with some old stories, and your name, as well as Sean's, cropped up. In the area of supporting cast," the Captain replied.

"With you as the lead, I assume?" Dash sniffed. Silently, he took note of the fact that his friend had nearly called the Muirs his "family." _Most interesting, that._ "And, watch that word, "old," at least when said in the same breath as _my_ name."

"What breath?"

"In a manner of speaking, old son," Dash replied loftily.

"But, you can bandy the same word with impunity?" Daniel asked with twinkling eyes.

"It does not refer to age in that phrase. Oh, botheration! The Muirs... I see. So, things are working out there, I trust?"

The Captain shrugged. "Yes, you might say that. Madeira?"

"Naturally, and don't change the subject," Dash stabbed a finger in Captain Gregg's direction. "You _like_ having them here."

"What if I do? Eternity is — less boring with them around," the other spirit scowled. "And, now that they all know about my being here, it is easier on us all."

"The housekeeper and the girl as well? How did they take the news?" Dash asked.

"Quite well. Candy especially." The Captain could not help but smile, remembering a certain stormy afternoon the previous August. "Martha thought she was going insane, at first, but once she adjusted, she began having delusions of admiral-hood — plotting how to make ME do housework." He snorted.

"I'd pay to see that," the nobleman grinned. "Since she knows about you, I think I'll raid the cookie jar. I caught a whiff of her baking on my last visit. She can blame you for snitching one or two."

"Or three or four?" Daniel knew that now that his friend did not have to worry about the ill effects of overindulgence. He was most fond of enjoying things that would have wrecked his lean figure, if not health, during life.

"If you are offering," Dash grinned as several popped into his hand. Taking a bite, his grin faded. "Oatmeal. I was hoping for chocolate." He continued to eat, however. "So, you can manage a degree of tangibility, yes?"

"Not a great deal, but yes. And, lately, I have noticed it is easier, at times," the Captain allowed. "Did you suffer any ill-effects from the Vulture's visit?"

"When was that blasted thing here? It didn't make it into Skeldale's port. I'd probably be moving in with you because those blasted, misbegotten..."

"I am not sure the Muirs would be sanguine about two spirits, especially not after Applegate showed up," Daniel said dryly.

"Applegate? That poor soul? He was here? He's a ghost? Oh, merciful heavens," Dash shook his head. "I want to hear all about it, but first... you can be a little solid, you said?"

"I had to learn how to be, if only a bit," Daniel agreed. "There'd be no way to drink Madeira, or smoke my cigars, otherwise!"

"That would NEVER do. Do you have any greater ambitions? You know that I can be solid enough to appear in public. No, Danny, I am not bragging, just stating a fact. You have people now who might enjoy being able to touch you. Two children to hug, a marvelous cook who can offer you more than a drink for sustenance, a lovely lady..."

"I can work on it, but it is not a simple matter, you know," Daniel frowned. "And, would it be proper for me to stay if I did accomplish such a feat?"

"I'd suggest achieving it, then worrying, was I you," Dash retorted. "Oh, never mind, for now. What stories were you telling? I found your short story in that women's magazine. Mrs. Pierce had a copy, hidden, mind you. You embellished it terribly, old son. And, don't tell me it was the lady who wrote it. I know your style."

"Oh, just various adventures. You and Sean got full credit for your roles," Daniel said over a sip of Madeira.

"See that we do, if you take up pen and paper again," Dash chided jocularly.

"After the last time, I doubt that will happen."

"She wasn't pleased, eh?"

"The original she wrote was a bit milder."

Dash chuckled. "Still, you used to talk of writing."

"That's all it was. Talk. And it's too late, now," the Captain said, emptying his wine glass in one swallow.

"And why would that be, pray?"

Daniel motioned for the Madeira bottle and filled his glass again.

"Dash, in case you haven't noticed, I'm dead."

"Funny man. So you are, so am I, so are... a lot of people. The price you pay for life."

"My, you are being philosophical tonight."

"And you are changing the subject. Again. Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You know. Writing."

"I must admit I have thought about it, but there would be no point. Although..."

"Yes?"

"Dash, I had a good education, when alive, thanks to my Aunt Violet, but I don't know_ how _to write a book."

"Not a book. Your memoirs. Just a history, dear fellow. Collection of stories — some of which I have no doubt you have told to your... family. Don't say you haven't thought of the idea. You always were good at telling a tale, and if it turns out anything like _Maiden Voyage_, it would be a sensation. A bestseller!"

"Exactly what I am afraid of. And it's not exactly like I could pop to the nearest publisher and say, 'Here... got this dandy idea for a book and thought you would like to see.' But..."

"But, what?"

"Well, I HAVE thought of asking Carol... Mrs. Muir about it."

"Then why don't you?"

"It wouldn't be fair for me to do so. She has her own writing. She makes a real living with it, too. She has way too much to do working on her own stories and articles without taking on more."

"But if you and she wrote it together, she could publish it."

"It would have to get accepted first. Besides, she has never written a book. How could I ask her to take on a project like that, not knowing the outcome? And how would she explain where she got the material?"

"If you had put as much thought into the story as you have excuses, it would be patently obvious," Dash said in exasperation.

"Really?" Daniel infused that word with a world of skepticism and a desire to hear what was so blasted "obvious."

"Yes, really! First off, you always were meticulous about keeping logs, diaries, and so forth. It only stands to reason that she could get hold of them, even without your spirit handing them over. Two, there is your great-nephew, though I will grant he's not much to brag on, from what you've said..."

"He is NOT my anything, except a thorn in my side... or some point further south," Daniel snapped.

"Be that as it may, he is regarded as such by the general populace. It would make sense that he would have papers and so forth that she could use as source material. Gracious, man, go to any library and there's shelves of biographies and so forth written by people who probably did not have ghosts to help them compose the things."

"Some of my logs are missing. One, I am sure of, anyway, and blast it; it was one that had almost a year of notes and events I jotted down. I don't know..."

"Danny, old boy, you are STILL making excuses."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Why don't you want to ask Mrs. Muir to help you with it?"

"I..."

"Afraid of revealing a little too much of your life to her? Getting too close?"

"Not at all. I'm just not sure what she will say, and blast it, things have been going so well lately, I just don't want to provoke any disagreements or hard feelings right now, if she doesn't want to do it. I don't want her to have to make excuses..."

Dash shook his head. "Daniel Gregg, simply tell her she can freely refuse and you will not hold a grudge or any other ill-will. Then, if she turns you down, DON'T hold a grudge. But, my friend, this is not _Maiden Voyage_. One, it would be targeted to a different audience. Two, it would not be written from the vantage point of a woman's eyes, and blast it, Danny, that girl was seasick and a shrew. You took off your own boots because they were quite... stained after meeting her. Three, you would be sticking to the facts, I hope, not trying to sound sensational."

"I AM sensational, and since when do you make lists like that?"

"Blimey, I've picked it up from the Pierces, particularly the youngest son. Sorry, didn't realize I was doing it. But, the points are valid."

"I could consider it, I suppose. Candy and Jonathan do seem to like hearing of my adventures. The other day they told me they thought my stories were more... groovy... I think they said, than _The Wild, Wild, West, Daniel Boone, and Here Come the Brides_ all rolled into one."

"High praise, indeed," Dash chuckled. "One of these days I will have to meet this family of yours, officially."

"Someday," Daniel smiled. "When I am sure they have recovered from Elroy. But as I was saying, we have been busy around here lately. Did I mention to you that Carolyn helped raise money to convert that old warehouse of mine to a seaman's home?"

"Ah — No, you did not! She talked your nephew into letting it go? Does that mean you will stop ranting about not having a will bequeathing Gull Cottage to be one?" Dash inquired. "Marvelous. Then you definitely need to start working on your memoirs. If they sell, Mrs. Muir can use the profits to buy Gull Cottage from your nephew. Wouldn't you like that? You did mention the idea the last time I was here."

"IF I had a nephew, yes, but I would accept Claymore selling it to her, _only _if by some strange chance he would do it for a reasonable sum. He would probably charge her fifty years' worth of rent as the selling price! But, I don't know if she wants to spend the rest of her life in Schooner Bay. She's from Philadelphia. Once the small town novelty wears off, she might miss it, and children do grow up, you know. When the nest is empty, she could see this place as too large for herself and Martha."

"Nonsense. She's been here two years. If she didn't like this town, she would know it by now. Besides, a home is an investment, I still have mine, you know. No plans on giving it up, either, and I've been dead for any number of years now. Dead, but definitely not gone! Besides, didn't you tell me the moment Carolyn Muir saw Gull Cottage that she fell in love with it? She'd buy your home all right, live in it, and take care of it, too — then someday leave it to her children. You'd be safe and... Blast it!"

"What now?"

"You are getting off the subject again. What's the matter? Don't think your life and history would be interesting reading? Well, maybe not —" Dash said, changing tactics. "...After all, memoirs are all the rage these days! Yours would be one book among dozens, and..."

"My life was bestseller material, and you know it!"

Quirking a brow, Dash replied in a tone laced with amusement, "Now, that is the Daniel Gregg I know. Is it in Mrs. Muir's writing that you lack confidence? To be sure, I can understand if you don't want to hurt the good lady's feelings."

"Actually, I believe her writing is excellent. I did have to set her straight on some nautical terms and practices along the way for the more recent stories she has done, but..."

"Nautical? She has actually been writing some tales that take place on board ship?"

"Yes, based partly on some experiences I have related to her, but as I said, I did have to correct her on a few points. She seemed rather reluctant at first to believe me, especially after we clashed on _Maiden Voyage_, but she came around..."

"Good Lord, Danny, the two of you are practically writing together now. In Heaven's name, ask her!"

"I think, my friend, you are exaggerating," the Captain said, politely not adding a phrase such as "again" or "as usual."

"If I am exaggerating, you are being either entirely too hesitant, or too modest, and neither is nothing like the Daniel Gregg I have known for more than a hundred and ten years," Dash chuckled, popping from where he had been seated on the love seat by the porthole window to Daniel's desk. "Here, I'll prove it to you..."

"What are you doing?" the seaman asked, as he watched the nobleman pull a sheet of vellum from the drawer and open the inkwell sitting on top of the desk.

"Proving my point. Aside from your own personal history... your parents, background, your aunt's... those might need to be expanded on a bit, I bet I can list at least ten tales of your life at sea that you could use for your book without even trying..." He frowned. "There's how you and I met, of course — not to mention your boyhood here in Schooner Bay — and I won't even bother writing down your feminine conquests! I leave that to your discretion... Now then, you will have to mention your experiences in the Mexican War, that incident with the native chief's son... the time you almost lost your arm rescuing Sean from that alligator of the coast of..."

"Lists, again," Daniel snorted. "Write away, Dash. And while you are at it, why don't you jot down a good way for me to approach Mrs. Muir and ask her to give up her days, evenings, weekends — time with her children — just to satisfy an odd idea of mine!"

"Don't worry, Danny," Dash soothed him. "You have a way with the fairer sex. You'll charm the lady into it. You could coax her into it if she WASN'T a writer, but seeing she is, that makes it so much the better! You'll think of something!"

Daniel sighed, lit a cigar and regarded his former shipmate.

"Maybe so, but I certainly don't know what right now!"

"Test the waters for a day or so," Dash shrugged. "You could tell a few more stories. New ones. Gauge her interest. See if she has any immediate projects going. I'd bet if you could get her started on it, she'll get involved, and from there you are halfway home."

"I'll consider it," the seaman nodded. "Though you have not squelched all my doubts on this possible... repeat, possible project. Now stop pestering me for a while and tell me what has been going on in your afterlife lately."

XXX

"Any coffee on, Martha?" Carolyn asked, coming into the kitchen carrying her empty mug around three p.m. Sunday afternoon. "I need a break."

"About half a pot," Martha chuckled, reaching to the rack on the wall to get her employer a fresh cup. "I figured you were about due. The Captain and the kids are still out fishing. They'll be home around five. Are you still working on YOUR fishing? The deep-sea fishing article for the _Boston Herald?"_

"Yes," Carolyn nodded. "And it is going much more slowly than I would like it to. I don't know why I agreed to do it. Fishing of any kind is boring, as far as I am concerned, but it pays the bills."

"You and the Captain should write another story for _Feminine View_," Martha grinned. "He told me that you and he wrote _Maiden Voyage_ together. Shoulda known! It was really different from your other short stories. You two should write more as a team, if you can create stuff like that, you know?"

"Martha!" Carolyn blushed. "I didn't write that story at all! Dan... The Captain told me the story, I wrote what I thought the magazine wanted, and then he rewrote it HIS way and swapped my version for his. THAT was the version that sold — not mine!"

"Still, he never would have written it if you hadn't needed an idea to begin with," Martha insisted. "You two really should write together more often."

"I don't think that's too likely," Carolyn sighed, sitting down at the table. "He has helped me a bit with a few other sea stories, but I think he finds my plotting a bit tame. And he is forever correcting my sea lingo when I do try."

"Is he right?"

"Well, yes, I guess you could say so, mostly, but I DO wish he would wait until I am finished with a story before he starts rewriting me."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to see you waste time having to write everything two or three times?" the housekeeper inquired, sitting down at the kitchen table with her own coffee cup. "He could just be trying to help you. Of course, I guess if there is such a thing as a back seat driver, maybe there is such a thing as a back seat writer, too. Or a frustrated one."

"Maybe," Carolyn smiled. "I have sold a couple of them — like the one I wrote last fall."

"That one was exciting," Martha nodded. "And very believable."

"Thanks. I think I rewrote it about four times! I had to change the whole second half after Daniel said that, and I quote, "No Captain with any sense or concern for his men would send a man up into the crow's nest during a hurricane, or even a heavy storm... I mean a squall. End quote. We almost argued about it! That one point really bothered him, even when I tried to claim poetic license. But in the end, I changed it, and it DID work out better."

"You know..." Martha started. "...No, never mind."

"Don't do that," Carolyn admonished her housekeeper and took another swallow of coffee. "Now I have to know. What is it?"

"Oh, I was just thinking I need to get to the Keystone library and see if I can find more published books about real sea captains," Martha said. "No, not real, Captain Gregg was... IS real. Just other sea captains. I'd really love to know more about his time. Just enough that I don't ask any — what did he call one the other night? Landsmen's questions?"

"You're catching on to the lingo, anyway," Carolyn nodded. "I could give you the name of a few of them. They are helpful, but it's not the same as talking to the genuine article."

"The genuine ghost, you mean," Martha grinned.

"I wish Captain Gregg could have published his memoirs before he died," Carolyn sighed. "Though as private as he is, I imagine he is glad he never did." She made a face and assumed a regal Captainish look. _"My dear Madam..."_ she started. _"I will not have anyone invading my privacy."_ She gave the last word the English pronunciation.

"That's a GREAT idea..." Martha said, sitting a little straighter in her seat.

"What is a great idea?"

"The Captain's memoirs. You should write them... He could help you. Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'ghost writer'."

"That's sort of what he said when we started writing _Maiden Voyage_," Carolyn smiled.

"See? You two would be a natural."

"Nope, I don't think so," Carolyn shook her head.

"Why ever not?"

"Martha, as I just said, he will not have ANYONE, and I fear that includes ME, invading his privacy. I've had my hands slapped, metaphorically, more than once for 'snooping'."

Martha frowned as she considered her employer's words. "It wouldn't really BE snooping. He's been telling us all quite a few stories. You'd just be collecting and organizing what he's already told us."

"I'd need more than just that. I'd have to know about his childhood and adolescence, not to mention more — private things." She felt a flush creeping up her cheeks.

"I'm sure he had more than a few romantic conquests. I can see why you wouldn't want to hear about those," Martha agreed. "But, to coin a phrase a bit, romance sells — AND, all those women are dead AND gone. YOU'RE here now."

"Martha! I am not jealous of Vanessa, Abigail, Prudence, and Kathleen, or any of the rest of them!" Carolyn protested.

"Never said you were."

"I'm not sure he'd want to talk about them, to me, or have that sort of thing published. Gentlemen don't kiss and tell," Carolyn said with a touch of added primness.

"Even leaving that sort of thing out, or glossing over it, his adventures would be interesting," Martha said. "Though personally I think SOME romance needs to stay in. I know if I saw a book like that, I'd buy it, and give it as gifts, too. After all, my nephew, and Harry, my sister's husband are both in the Navy, remember? They'd love it."

"You and I think it'd be fascinating because we know the subject personally. Would anyone else?"

"I don't see why they wouldn't. Books get published every day about people far more unlikely than a long-dead sea captain. It would sell... Especially if his picture is on the cover," Martha let slip.

Raising her brows, Carolyn said, "Oh? What happened to 'the ogre' and 'laughing boy'?"

It was Martha's turn to blush.

"I reconsidered, once I got to know him and talk to him a bit. Besides, that picture over the mantle does not do the man himself justice. Neither did the one on the chowder can, and I don't care if Matthew Brady DID take it. Even so, Mrs. Kemper needs glasses if she really said 'ick' after looking at it."

"She would never wear them," Carolyn laughed. "I fibbed, a little, there. I had to get the Admiral to leave us alone. Neither the Captain, nor I, want Gull Cottage to be a tourist attraction. Which brings us back to the original point. He does not like for people to pry."

"I think he'd be complimented," Martha countered. "He's not vain in that annoying way like..." she broke off.

"Like Blair?"

"You said it, not I, but yes. The Captain does like to be appreciated, though. Appeal to his pride. He'd be flattered that you were interested and thought other people would be, too. If we have to keep the wolf out, you might as well have a topic more interesting than deep sea fishing."

Carolyn pursed her lips. That was true. She thought about the times that the Captain's love of admiration had nearly gotten them in hot water. The chowder incident... the mechanical man at the museum... But, he would be more interesting than some of her topics and spending time with him was better than in the sometimes woefully inadequate Schooner Bay library.

"I'll think about it, but where will I find the time to write a book? Until it sells, if it does, that's not a paycheck."

"Mrs. Muir, my mother always says, you find time to do what is important to you. So, you can with this, if you'll pardon my saying so."

"Of course I will. You don't need to ask pardon, Martha. You're family." She considered that Claymore was, at least officially, Captain Gregg's family, and some of her own oddball relatives, and then added, "In the most positive sense."

XXX

The next few days around Gull Cottage were strained in an odd way, but no one seemed terribly aware of it but the ghost and Mrs. Muir. The children didn't seem to notice it at all at first, but HAD noticed the absence of television. "STILL broken," Jonathan pointed out, at least twice a day, and were mollified only when the Captain, prompted by Martha, offered to tell more stories of his life at sea, and Carolyn promised to see about getting the TV fixed, or replaced, once and for all. She listened to the Captain's stories, and asked questions when the others did, and Martha grinned to herself when she realized her employer's left hand was twitching, knowing that she was dying to start taking notes for a book.

"_ASK him, Mrs. Muir! Just ask him!" _she thought desperately, but Carolyn remained silent, and none of the encouraging looks Martha shot at her the remainder of the evening were acknowledged in words or actions.

XXX

It was late Tuesday evening when Lord Dashire reappeared in the wheelhouse as Daniel was updating his sea charts.

"Excellent, I see you are compiling notes for the great American memoirs. How goes it by now?" the Englishman asked eagerly, leaning over his friend's shoulder to peer at the writing. For a moment, he stared at the sheets, then, in an almost questioning tone, said, "Daniel? Those are sea charts, not notes."

"Thank you, Dash, I am delighted to know what I have been working on for the last hour," Daniel replied smoothly.

"Blast it, you were supposed to be... Wait. Does that mean that Mrs. Muir is working on the book, therefore, you do not need to and can work on those charts?"

"No," Daniel bit out.

"No? What does that mean?" Dash blinked.

"It means no. Non. The opposite of yes."

"I am aware of what the word "no" means, but why are you not working on the book, or why is Mrs. Muir not working on it?"

"Since you are so fond of lists, one, it is entirely too late for her to be up working. Two, my sea charts do need updating..."

"Ha."

"Three, I do not know how to begin writing it, as of yet. Fourth and lastly, I have not asked her to write them."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing she has seemed rather out of sorts — distracted the last day or so, and I did not wish to add to her distraction. And for another I thought — well, I thought maybe I might try and do some of the preliminary work on them myself. Give her less to do, you know."

"Not a bad idea, but if that is the case, why are you not working with your logs? Organizing? Making an outline? Something?"

"Because the blasted sea charts need updating, as I already said."

"Daniel Gregg that's... bilge, and you know it. You're stalling. I never thought I would see the day that you would be afr..."

"Don't say it, Dash!"

"Well, are you?"

"I am not afraid of asking her, but I am slightly worried..."

"Double 'Ha'."

"...Maybe more than slightly worried about her answer," he continued. "Don't you see how it could change things?"

"No, I don't. I thought we had discussed this. Tell me."

"As you pointed out with _Maiden Voyage_, some of my tales _might_ have been somewhat... embellished to show me in a more flattering way, but journalistic integrity would demand that they be stripped of that. She might see me in a less... heroic light, when all is said and done."

"Nonsense. You lived a man's life and have never had anything to be ashamed of or sorry for. You played it straight — or reasonably so, and no woman has ever been the worse for having known you, and it will all turn out fine. Besides, I have read any number of autobiographical books by men much more famous than you are — and I am relatively sure there was some glossing over and embellishment at the same time for them." He raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything else? Any other reason you haven't asked her? Something a little closer to home? More basic, perhaps?"

"Of course I am sure. What are you implying?"

"Well, don't say it THAT way..." Dashire looked wounded. "I wasn't insinuating anything... exactly. I was just wondering why else you are so blasted reluctant to ask Carolyn Muir to do this. I would think that as a writer she would be delighted with the opportunity. Of course you would be working together a good deal. Does _that_ bother you?"

"On the contrary, it pleases me very much. I enjoy writing — or, I guess editing comes closer to what I do — checking terminology and such, but..."

"But what?"

"I'm still trying to imagine what would happen if we hit snags." The ghost gave a heavy sigh. "Dash, in the last two years Carolyn... Mrs. Muir and I... we HAVE had our ups and downs. Mostly ups, but I don't want any more downs. Not like the times we fought and she thought leaving would be best — or the one time I did. We've been bickering a good deal this last year or so, I'm not exactly sure why, really, but Christmas changed things, rather, and we have been on a relatively even keel ever since. I don't want to jeopardize that."

"Aislynn and I had our ups and downs, too. Quite a few downs when I retired from the sea and she suddenly had me underfoot, as I recall, but we weathered them and were stronger for it. If your relationship depends upon being only better without the worse, it's not much of one," Dash opined. "Besides, you would be allowing her to see the real you. I understand women appreciate that sort of thing."

"They say they do, but sometimes, I wonder," Daniel chuckled. "You know, I have tried... or started to try a couple of times to ask her... to say something, but she is always so busy! Rather like the time I tried to read her a poem I wrote. Monday she was on some deadline or another, nothing I could help her with, and by the time she finished, she had collapsed into bed. I didn't even know she had retired... actually, she didn't either!" He smiled fondly. "I popped in to ask how things were going, and say goodnight, and found her fast asleep, in bed, with the last sheet of her article in her hand and a smile on her face."

"That's... I know you hate the word, but that's sweet," the nobleman answered.

"Carolyn is sweet; I am not," the seaman answered loftily. "Anyway, I turned off the lights, and put the papers on the desk where she would find them when she awoke. Then, this morning, I was going to say something to her, but she got a late start. She didn't set her alarm and neither did I, and it was a mad rush to get the children ready for school, and then they all left. Martha had things to do in town and Carolyn had research at the library. She didn't say what for. I didn't get a chance to say a word. By the time they all got home, it was baths and bed for the children, and that's where Carolyn is, I trust... and she said tomorrow is going to be the same thing. Rush, rush, rush."

"And, that is the perpetual state of affairs in this age of modernity. If you wait for things to slow down, you will be asking her grandchildren to write your memoirs. Make an appointment with her."

"An appointment? A formal appointment? Dash, I tried keeping schedules with this crew... it doesn't really work well." He smiled, remembering his "death-day" party, then frowned, remembering Candy and Jonathan's bad dreams after it. "If I try to schedule a conference, an appointment with Mrs. Muir, she will NOT take to it kindly. She doesn't even show up promptly for our Madeira dates half the time — I have gotten used to that, by the way, but our last three were rescheduled."

"Could you simply let her know that you need a few moments of her time? Or ask the children or the housekeeper to assist you in gaining those moments?"

"I might ask Martha..." Daniel rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "But... no. She would want to know what was so blasted important. And I'd just as soon not ask the children. They would want to know why, and I don't want them to find out what I have in mind just yet. No. If I am asking Mrs. Muir for this... favor... she should be the one I talk to first."

"I see..." Dash nodded thoughtfully. "Tell me, when is your next Madeira date? Tuesdays, you said, right? Blast, that was this afternoon. It would have been an ideal time to see if she is open to the idea."

"Normally, yes, but she told me she had to reschedule. We are set for Thursday afternoon at four, at the moment."

"Day after tomorrow. You could ask her about it then. Tell her another exciting tale... lead into it, and..."

"Dash, I am not ready to ask her! I have been going through my logs and I am missing that one, I told you..."

"What's one log? You start telling stories, I am sure you will remember one year's worth of adventures, more or less. Ask her, Danny. Ask her over Madeira on Thursday."

The Captain closed his eyes. Sean had always been the more laid back, in the modern vernacular, friend. But, Dash was like Scruffy with a bone when he got an idea in his head and would push until Daniel agreed. "Very well, provided we do not reschedule, again."

"Outstanding," Dash beamed. "I'll be back late Thursday night to check for results."

"Not tomorrow night to badger me?"

Dash shook his head. "You have a slightly inflated idea of yourself, old fellow. I do have other duties to attend to."

"Such as what?"

"You know I've kept attorneys in my employ since shortly after my death, thanks to my daughter's assistance, initially. Same law-firm, just passed down. Well, Timothy Pierce has decided to retire and devote his life to doing whatever his wife is inclined to do. A world tour is the current plan. The younger son, Adam, is in the process of taking over. He handled learning that the family's friend and client was a ghost quite well, actually. Better than his dad handled doing the telling. Ha. But, we still need to discuss the particulars and so forth. So, that is what I'll be up to for the time being. Breaking him in."

"Will that take a great deal of time?" Daniel frowned. "You may pester me, Dash, but I know it is meant well. If we do get moving on my book, I was rather counting on being able to pump you for information — maybe a little clarification here and there? After all, you were around. It might be a good idea to have another point of view now and again."

Lord Dashire shook his head. "Not a good idea, Danny, old boy. Too many cooks, and all that. These are YOUR memoirs, not mine. But if Mrs. Muir does a good job with them, and it goes as fast as I think it will if you ever get off your arse and get them started, I may be knocking on your door again and ask Carolyn Muir to give me a hand with MY life story!"

"First things first," Daniel Gregg harrumphed. "Now be a sport. If you are going to be busy breaking in this Adam Pierce fellow for heaven only knows how long, play one more game of chess with me before you shove off, all right? Then I'll start sorting through my logs in earnest, and if the winds blow my way, I will ask Carolyn about it on Thursday afternoon."

XXX

Normally, the two Muir children each kept to their own set at lunch, but on Wednesday, Candy sought her brother out at noon.

"Why aren't you with your 'gang?'" Jonathan asked her with a puzzled frown.

"I can talk to them any time," the girl shrugged. "I needed to discuss important matters with you." Her eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening. "Alone. About you-know-who and Mom."

"You sound like Claymore," the boy frowned.

"I do not sound like that blasted barnacle," she argued. "But, we can't mention him here."

"Claymore?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Jonathan!" Giving up as she realized time was passing, she whispered, "The house has felt funny for a couple of days, like it did after Madame Tibaldi visited or when Mom cut down the monkey-puzzle tree. Or when Miss Peakskill was here."

"Mom didn't cut down the tree; Seth and Abner did," Jonathan retorted smartly.

"She HAD them cut it down; they didn't just come and chop it down. So, I was wondering, do you think they're mad at each other? Mom and..." her voice dropped another octave, "...the Captain?"

"Why would they be?" Jonathan asked with a puzzled look.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking instead of saying," she sighed. _Brothers!_ "I'm scared that she wants to leave — or he wants us to."

"That'd be awful!"

"Shh." Candy looked around anxiously. "Yeah, it would be. So, we gotta figure out what's wrong and get them talking to each other again so we won't have to."

"Maybe it's not them, but Claymore?" Jonathan asked. "Think he'd raise the rent? And, Mom might not be getting enough writing to do, so maybe she wants to work for mean ol' Mr. Finley again, and the Captain wouldn't be happy about THAT."

"Could be, but the Captain would fix HIM," Candy mused. "He'd scare Claymore into acting right. He has before."

"Maybe Mom told him not to scare Claymore?" Jonathan suggested, taking a bite of his sandwich that now tasted like sawdust.

Candy thought about that, and then shook her head. "No. I think she'd let him. But, it's gotta be something. I don't want to leave Gull Cottage."

"Me, too, neither," Jonathan nodded earnestly.

"But, if the adults have decided that we are, how do we keep from doing it?" Candy asked forlornly.

"We could ask Martha, maybe? She knows about the Captain now and Mom will listen to her," Jonathan suggested hopefully.

"I guess that's all we can do," Candy raised and lowered her shoulders sadly.

"Blast."

"Double blast," she agreed.

XXX

The afternoon dragged for Candy and Jonathan. School let out at three-fifteen, and as they made their way outside, they were surprised to find not just Martha, but their mother waiting for them as well.

The children looked at each other, and then back to the adults, their eyes tacitly saying, _Yep, something's up._

"Is anything wrong?" Jonathan blurted out as they scrambled into the back seat.

"What makes you say that?" Carolyn asked with noticeably forced cheer. "I just thought I'd come along to get my favorite kids and take them to the soda shop, for a special treat."

Instead of the expected cheers, Carolyn was stunned when both kids chorused, "No!"

"We need to talk to you, Mom," Candy said fretfully.

"But not in public," Jonathan added emphatically.

"Right. Just us and Martha," Candy nodded.

Carolyn looked at Martha out of the corner of her eye and her children through the rearview mirror. "As it happens, I need to talk to you two, too."

"We don't want to leave Gull Cottage!" the two burst out.

"Or the Captain," Candy gulped.

"Not ever," Jonathan staunchly agreed.

"Why ever would you think we were?" Carolyn gasped, almost missing her turn.

"The way you guys have been acting the last couple of days," Candy said firmly.

"Who? Me?" Martha asked, turning around from the passenger's side of the moving car.

"Oh, no... You're still you... mostly," Jonathan grinned, and then his face turned serious again. "It's Mom and the Captain."

"Yeah," Candy agreed. "Are you two arguing again? I thought you guys quit that after Christmas — mostly."

"Uh-huh, 'cause if you are, you DO have to stop it," Jonathan added.

Letting out a sigh, Carolyn stopped the car at the bottom of the hill, about a mile from Gull Cottage. "Kids," she started, turning in her seat. "I..."

"I knew it!" Candy was almost shouting. "There IS something wrong!"

Carolyn held up her hand. "What have I said about jumping to conclusions?"

"Don't," Candy replied glumly.

"Exactly. Nothing is wrong, precisely, it's just... I want to write a book. But, guys, I still have to write things that sell and bring in money first, and in addition to that, I don't know if anyone will want to publish my manuscript once it is done, but it will take extra time for me to write — months, maybe — and I won't be as available, and be able to spend as much time with you guys."

"Of course they'll want to publish it. You're the greatest writer ever," Jonathan said. "Even better than the guy who writes about the electric bird."

"Thank you." Carolyn bit her lip to hold in her amusement.

"What's it about?" Candy asked eagerly.

"Captain Gregg. That's part two of why I'm nervous," Carolyn admitted, inclining her head in a slight bow. "I want to record his stories — write his memoirs, but I don't know if he will agree."

Jonathan cocked his head and looked at his mother for a moment.

"You want to write about Captain Gregg? Like write down all the stories that he has told us for other people to read, too? You've done that, haven't you? You know, like the stowaway story that everyone talked about last year? The one we couldn't read and Martha read five times? You want to write more stories like that?"

"Well, maybe not JUST like that," Martha chuckled. "And it was only four times... when it came out, that is."

"In a way, sort of..." Carolyn's face was turning red. "But more about him. A lot about the Captain. The story of his life, how he grew up, what his parents were like, and his aunt, his friends, and all his adventures."

"Will you remind everyone he didn't kill himself, again?" Candy asked bluntly. "If you do that, I think you should write it."

"I would definitely remember to write about that, Candy, but, as I said, and I need you both to understand this, writing these memoirs will take a lot of time..." Carolyn pointed out. "I can't even say how long. There are tons of papers to go through and a lot to decide about WHICH stories to tell. Look. This all may be a moot point. I haven't even asked Captain Gregg yet. I've been sort of worried about asking him, really. He may say he doesn't want anyone invading his privacy."

"Well, he was really pleased when that tourist guy wanted to center the whole town around him, until his statue started serving pies and pizzas," Candy offered.

"And remember how he wanted it to be his bronze statue put up, not Horatio Figg's," Jonathan chimed in. "And you know how happy he was when THAT happened!"

"I know, I know..." Carolyn sighed. "But there is a big difference between a bronze likeness of yourself standing in the middle of town, or a display in a museum, and writing down your entire life for other people to see and examine under a microscope if they want to."

"Mom, the Captain would do it, I KNOW he would..." Jonathan insisted. "He's been telling me stories practically since the day we moved in here, and he didn't know me that well to start with."

"He would've been telling ME, too, if I hadn't said I was scared by ghosts," Candy sulked. "Me and my big mouth! But I was lucky, I think. He told them all over again... and he is STILL telling us! Mom... you'd have enough stories for TWO books! Are you going to write about him when he was a kid, like us?"

"Yeah," Jonathan chimed in. "Will there be pictures, too?"

"Don't be dumb, Jonathan," his sister sniffed. "They didn't have cameras when the Captain was alive."

"Don't call your brother names, Candy." Martha said. "Actually, there were cameras then, but not very many, and definitely nothing like the ones we have now." She sighed. "Still, a few Polaroids of him would be a great addition..."

"Yeah, but he said he doesn't photograph well," Jonathan pointed out.

"Or at all..." Candy mused. "Remember the picture of Mom bashing the behemoth, or whatever Captain Gregg said it was? Maybe we could hire an artist! No... That won't work. Nobody can see him but us. We could take a picture of his portrait — or I could try drawing him. He's liked the other drawings I've done. And if that doesn't work, maybe I could draw his ship. You could put that on the book..."

"If Candy gets her drawing on the cover, so do I!" Jonathan protested.

"What would YOU draw?" Candy asked in her best big sister voice.

"I'd think of something! I could do a picture of him at his telescope!"

"Let's not put the cover ahead of the book, kids," Carolyn advised. "First, he has to say he wants to do it, and you have to agree that you won't feel neglected when we get really going on it."

"Could we... listen in, maybe, when you guys are working?" Candy asked, "Just once in a while if we promise not to ask questions or make noise? We want to hear more about the Captain, too."

"If you promise to be quiet, yes, but a lot of it will be when you're at school or doing homework, or asleep."

"Writing a book sounds like more fun," Jonathan grumped. "Especially the Captain's."

"But school will be out in only... seventy eight days," Candy pointed out. "We can listen to the stories then — if it isn't all finished by that time."

"It could be," Jonathan pointed out. "The Captain has all those logs... some of the writing will just be finding his best stories, and typing them."

"So, are you starting soon, if we say it's okay with us?" Candy asked brightly. "We could help you when we don't have stuff to do, and..."

"Hold on!" Carolyn protested, reaching to the back seat to tousle their blonde heads. "I haven't even asked him yet!"

"You could ask him tonight," Martha put in. "Invite him to dinner, and..."

"I'd rather ask him by himself, without an audience," Carolyn said after a moment's thought. "I don't want him saying he will just because he doesn't want to embarrass me in front of you all."

"I see your point," Martha nodded. "Can't go putting him on the spot like that... he might feel like he is being Shanghaied or something. Still, there's nothing wrong with getting him in a good mood. He's been kinda grumpy the last couple of days or so, too — probably just picking up your vibes, Mrs. Muir, but a nice dinner would be a good start. I have seen him drink coffee, so he might be able to eat a little... unless drinking is an illusion of some sort. At any rate, we'll ask him. It could be a nice evening, even if you are determined to wait until Thursday night to spring your idea."

"Thursday is going to be a _looonnngggg _day," Candy said, bouncing a little in her seat.

"So, you really don't mind?" Carolyn needed to confirm once more. "That is, if it works out?"

"No!"

"And if he agrees, you really won't complain that I can't do things with you?"

"We'll miss you, Mom," Candy said, "but you write really fast when you have a good subject, so it won't be TOO long — not forever at all."

"And it will be worth it when your book is a hit!" Jonathan shouted. "I can't wait until you tell the Captain what you want to do!"

"ASK, Jonathan," Carolyn said, with a touch of trepidation in her voice. "Ask, and then hope he will say _**yes!"**_

XXX

When Daniel Gregg was asked to dinner that night, he was surprised, but quite pleased. Due to his ghostly status, he usually avoided human activities such as eating, but when first the children, then Martha, and finally Carolyn made a point of inviting him to the evening meal after they arrived home that afternoon, he decided to vary his usual routine.

Martha had outdone herself with the menu; beef stew, carrot and apple salad, and fresh rolls. Daniel wished he had considered taking Dashire's advice and had learned how to partake of human sustenance more effectively, but still, he enjoyed the mealtime chatter. Belonging to a family, or a family belonging to him was wonderful indeed. Candy related an amusing tale about Penny Hassenhammer being caught passing notes and having to write "I will not pass notes" on the blackboard one hundred times during recess, and Jonathan talked about baseball.

Finally, the subject turned to spring vacation coming up in just a few weeks.

"I was thinking, perhaps, if your mother agrees, we could have that camp-out you two mentioned sometime back," Daniel smiled. "We had said the four of us, but that was before Martha knew about me. So, it could be five, now."

Candy and Jonathan exchanged furtive glances, but, as with children, it was hard not to miss them. Then Jonathan spoke up.

"Candy and I'd like to, but I think Mom is going to be busy..." he started.

"Oh, really?" the seaman asked, now curious. "Doing—?"

"Uh, yeah. Working," Candy gulped, not quite able to meet the Captain's eyes. If she had, she knew she'd start smiling and give it all away. "Important working."

"She's got a big interview," Jonathan added. "With someone super great. Ow!"

"Sorry. My foot slipped," Candy fudged. "I know I shouldn't swing my legs at the table."

"Hmm. Great, you say?"

"Yeah, and really important..." Candy went on.

"Important?"

"Well, HE thinks he is, anyway," Martha smirked. She couldn't help herself.

"You know this fellow, too, Martha?"

"Uh, yes... I met him fairly recently."

"And?"

"He is exceptionally fascinating..." _and that's no lie_, she continued to herself.

"Oh, really, now?" The seaman bristled.

"Well, he's..."

"Yes?"

"Martha, don't you think it's time for dessert?" Carolyn asked, a touch of desperation in her voice.

_She's hiding something... _Daniel guessed, observing the beautiful woman seated across from him.

The housekeeper looked relieved. "Right away, Mrs. Muir," she answered, and practically bolted from the table.

The seaman surveyed the children carefully. "So… you met your mother's latest interview subject, also?"

"Yeah," Jonathan smiled. "He's really great, Captain. Best one ever."

"So..." the seaman looked more ethereal all of a sudden. "Then I imagine you are going to be tied up all this spring, with this new project?" he spoke to Carolyn again. _Blast! With spring, comes romance... I wonder who Carolyn is seeing? Not George or Harry again, surely. _He sighed

"Uh, well, I hope to be..." Carolyn stuttered.

"I hope you will have time still for a seaman's company, from time to time?"

"Oh! Well, yes, of course I will... I'm sure..." she blushed.

"Dessert," Martha announced, coming back to the table with five bowls of chocolate pudding.

"Thank you, Martha," the mariner acknowledged the treat. "But I believe I have lost my taste for... sweets. If you'll excuse me, I think I have some logs to catch up on. Thank you for allowing me to join you for your evening meal." So saying, he disappeared.

After the ghost had vanished, they waited in silence for a heartbeat, and then Mrs. Muir looked at Scruffy, "Is he here?"

The dog just stared at her.

"D'ya think he caught on?" Candy asked.

"I thought we covered fairly well..." Martha mused. "If he says no to the memoirs, I hope you have a backup plan that doesn't involve interviewing any fascinating guys, Mrs. Muir. I don't think I could stand two days of nonstop thunder."

"Well, it wouldn't be here. I'd have to leave town to find one," she sighed.

"I don't think there are any men as spellbinding as the Captain in Keystone, Pripet, Bangor, or that other little town, near here — Skeldale," Martha chuckled. "You know what? Meeting the Captain almost makes me wish I knew more ghosts. It they are all as great loo — interesting as he is, it could be a blast!" She blushed, then added, "But, I mean in the 'fun blast' way, not the way Captain Gregg blasts."

"You shoulda met Elroy," Candy giggled.

"Elroy who?"

"Seaman Fourth-Class Elroy Applegate," Jonathan answered. "He was here a little while back, wanting the Captain to make him a better ghost. He wasn't very good at it."

"Oh, him!" Martha nodded. "The Captain told me about Elroy. He said I vacuumed him up one day when he was here. I didn't know ghosts could be inept," Martha shook her head, and then turned to her employer. "Are you sure you don't want to ask about the book tonight, Mrs. Muir? Captain Gregg seemed to be in a good mood until we got to dessert."

"Maybe he doesn't like chocolate pudding?" Jonathan wondered. "How could anyone not like chocolate?"

"I'm not sure he CAN enjoy it, sweetie," Carolyn said sadly. "If his mood had stayed good, I'd consider it, but now..."

"MOM!!" Candy gasped. "You WILL ask him, won't you?"

"Yeah," Jonathan agreed. "You always tell us not to jump to conclusions. Like earlier. Maybe he just has something else on his mind."

"The kids are right," Martha nodded. "You still have a Madeira date tomorrow, don't you?"

Carolyn nodded, blushing slightly as Martha referred to it as a "date."

"Yes, at four."

"And, you really DO plan on talking to him about the idea?" Martha gave her a stern look that reminded her of when her mother gently interrogated her.

"Well, yes. Probably."

"Not probably, definitely," Candy insisted. "Promise, Mom? If he says no, that's it. We won't bug him, and..."

"**I'd** bug him," Jonathan cut in. "I want to hear more stories. I want to know what he was like when he was my age."

Candy socked her brother on the arm. "Stop it, Jonathan. Bothering people isn't nice. Especially the Captain."

"Your sister is right, Jonathan," Carolyn said sternly. "But, Candy, don't hit your brother."

"Yes, Ma'am," they said in unison.

"I'm just going to have to work on my approach, it looks like."

"You could bring him gum-drops," Jonathan said, helpfully.

"And you could dress really nice," Candy added. "Wear a long skirt and a lacy blouse, not slacks. I think the Captain likes dresses better."

Martha chuckled. "I think your daughter is growing up way too fast, Mrs. Muir." She paused. "But she might be right. You know, if you were trying to talk anyone else into a project like this, you would bring a portfolio of all your best work."

"Maybe you could write down what you wanted to say in the book... about him," Candy put in.

"Yeah!" Jonathan practically shouted. "You have to know what stories to use. Like the octopus, and the crazy cook, and his friends, Sean and Dashire, and the cat and seven kittens, and the natives..."

"He knows how I write," Carolyn protested. "_And_ how often I get nautical terms wrong."

"You're a lot better than you were," Jonathan interjected. "The Captain told me so. The last story you did, he only had to correct four things. That's a lot better than you used to be."

"And you SHOULD bring your other writing, Mom," Candy added. "Just to remind him. You know — like the Spring Open House for us at school — when the teacher puts up all of our best stuff on the bulletin board. You know we did good, I mean well, because you saw our grades when we brought the papers home, but posting stuff on the board is a great reminder to everyone, even parents."

"Like a gold star," Jonathan added. "And the Captain can remember how much you have improved since that first story you wrote when Algae was here."

"And he would be helping you..." Candy went on. "It's not like you are going to have to write all of it. Some of it will just be writing down what he says."

"And probably promising to write it _exactly_ as he says it," Carolyn said only half-aloud.

"If your name is going to be listed as the author, you need to have a few rights," Martha smiled. "But really, Mrs. Muir, you can talk him into it. Look at all the other great writing duos in history — Dannay and Lee, the guys who wrote Ellery Queen... George and Ira Gershwin... Lerner and Lowe... Rogers and Hammerstein... I am sure they didn't agree on everything either, but they worked it out. You will too... but first you have to ask him."

"You're right. You're right. If Lerner and Lowe can write my favorite musical,_ Brigadoon_, despite an occasional argument, the Captain and I can pull off his memoirs. But, somehow, I think it's going to be a tough sell."

"I still don't understand why you think that, Mom," Jonathan frowned. "The Captain writes down everything, and he DID write that poem. If he writes, I think he wants someone to read it, too."

"Telling your stories to people you lo — like is one thing. Telling the whole world is another," his mother smiled.

"Mrs. Muir..." Martha spoke up, "I was telling you earlier that after I met the Captain, I looked in the Schooner Bay Library for more information about him. There was precious little published, past what we already know from back issues of the SBB, but I did see some other old books written and privately printed by other sea captains of his time. It would seem that any number of the fellows would wait and write their memoirs after they retired. I'll bet Captain Gregg wanted to do that too — or have someone work with him on it, and he died, accidentally, before he had the chance."

"I guess we'll soon find out!" Carolyn smiled, as she pushed herself from the table. "Okay. I promise. Tomorrow afternoon it is. I'll ask him then, and get an answer, yea or nay. I guess I'm not really out anything if he says no. We can still listen to his stories, even if he doesn't want to tell them to just everyone."

"Are you going to put a notebook together of all your best stuff?" Jonathan asked.

"I might as well," Carolyn smiled at her son. "I'll start working on it tonight. If D... The Captain says no, I may need it for some other assignment!"

"He'll say "yes," Mom, I just know it," Candy said, standing also, and giving her mother a hug, Jonathan following his sister.

"Yeah!" Jonathan grinned. "Then you and the Captain will be famous!"

Carolyn thought about his words, hoping that if the book was agreed to, and written, _and published_, that it would not change their lives too greatly.

XXX

In the morning, Carolyn wondered if the Captain would pick up on the tense excitement in the air at breakfast, but he did not appear until right before the kids left for the day. He was there just long enough to wish them a good day at school, and then he made some excuse about needing to work on his charts and vanished. Mrs. Muir was puzzled, but decided it was just as well. After thinking about it, she had decided to follow Martha's advice and put together a portfolio to present to the Captain while making her pitch. If he were busy, then he wouldn't be apt to catch her doing that.

It would have surprised Carolyn Muir to learn that, in fact, Captain Gregg wasn't even in Gull Cottage at the moment. As soon as he had seen the kids off, he popped to Skeldale, to Dashire Manor, to see his old friend. Dash looked up in surprise as Daniel appeared in the middle of the room.

"Danny! Has Thursday afternoon come and gone already? I know we ghosts tend to lose track of time, but I do try to keep in line with the mortals, mostly. Tell me, did it go well? Will she do it?" Then he paused, allowing himself to feel the waves of tension coming off the other seaman. "Blast. It did NOT go well, then?"

Daniel took a seat on one of the few remaining chairs. "It is only Thursday morning, Dash, and I have not asked her yet, but I have also decided not to."

Thunder rumbled. "I beg your pardon?" the other spirit asked, in a too patient tone.

"I believe you heard me."

"Blast it! Why ever NOT?" the nobleman demanded.

"Because," Daniel replied icily, "she is about to become involved in a major project..."

Throwing up his hands, Dash stared at the ceiling as if appealing to the heavens for help in dealing with his hardheaded friend. "So? Just get your project on her agenda. When she's done with whatever it is, your memoirs can be next. I know you hate waiting in queues, but sometimes it IS necessary, even for a spirit." He rubbed his chin. "Besides, as you have said, she will have to keep her regular writing assignments going — just to keep the bills paid and food on the table, you know. She'll never be done with all her assignments, so you can't wait for that to happen to ask her."

"I do not plan to ask her at all," the Captain corrected him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dash hissed, "Once more, I ask you,_ why?"_

"There is more to this upcoming project than work. She has met someone, a man. I believe she will be marrying again, soon. Therefore, she will no longer be part of my — existence. It's best to cut all ties and not forge new ones." Daniel glared at Dash stoically.

Blowing out a breath, Dash closed his eyes for a moment. "You did not mention she was dating, old son."

"I did not know of it! It just came up, suddenly. Out of the blasted, blazing blue! But, I should have expected it. She's a blasted attractive woman… no a beautiful woman, and charming. And the children are quite well behaved and amiable. Any man would be fortunate beyond belief to have them. It's a wonder no one has until now." More thunder rolled.

Completely unperturbed by this fit, Dash began pacing. "Just to clarify, Captain, you have not met, or even seen this chap?"

"No."

"She has not been going out at night? Dressing up, fixing all the things women fix?" He waved a hand in the general direction of his hair. "Sporting a new ring?"

"No, no, and no," the Captain replied tersely.

Dash rolled his eyes. "Indulge me a moment; I have been hanging around a lawyer recently..."

"How did it go with — Adam, was it?"

"Splendid. I rather imagine he'll be my best barrister to date, but do _not _even think about changing the subject. Precisely how did you arrive at the conclusion that the lady is contemplating wedlock to the blasted invisible man? He certainly does not appear to have courted her in any way that one would normally consider courtship."

"Car — Mrs. Muir may have had some — inkling of how I might feel for her, if I were in a position to have such feelings, which I am not, and out of respect for that, not bring him about or mention him until it is too late. Or she might fancy I would eject the blighter via usage of my considerable powers."

Dash somehow managed not to choke on something that was a cross between anger and a laugh. "Not in a position to...!" he muttered a word that most gentlemen would not use in pure frustration. "HAS she been going out at night?"

"I said no, did I not? But, she does go out on errands and — things!"

"So, she fits her assignations in between the milk aisle and the bread? Daniel Gregg, I do not think the fellow exists, and even if he does, I have not seen many modern men, or ones in our era, who could hope to be a better catch than you, present speaker excepted. But, I am not looking, so that is beside the point. You, old son, are the better man than any namby-pamby wimp who won't even show his face at the lady's house. She deserves a man with more backbone than that. You, Daniel, you. And, this is not even about romance, it's about a book." In utter exasperation and disgust, he dropped onto the sofa.

"She deserves a living, breathing man who can offer her more than charisma and suaveness," Daniel replied sulkily.

"I have faked being such a being at various times throughout the last fifty years, Daniel, so that is not a valid excuse."

"I'm in no mood to have this argument," the Captain growled.

"Very well," Dash shook his head. "However, do this for me; stop making blasted assumptions and simply _ask_ if she is about to marry some fop. If she is, we will cross that bridge then. I won't stand by and let you ruin your afterlife! If she is not and you are being foolish in making this leap of illogic, then ask to write the blasted memoirs with her. I have not asked much of you in a long time, Daniel."

"I want what is best for her, and if it is another man, then so be it," the Captain insisted.

"I want your word," Dash countered, completely ignoring the last sentence. "I'll pop over and ask her myself, if you do not."

"You will NOT."

Dash smiled serenely. "Hide and watch, old son. Hide and watch."

"Very well, I will do as you demand, this once."

"Marvelous. Now, would you care for some Madeira?"

"Yes. Thank you."

XXX

Just for a change, nothing happened to prevent either Daniel Gregg or Carolyn Muir from keeping their appointment that Thursday afternoon.

"I'm very pleased you were able to accept my invitation," he started, formally.

"And I am quite pleased you extended it, and that I was able to hold to it, instead of rescheduling again," she answered quietly. "I have been busy lately..." _and due to get busier, I hope... _she continued to herself.

"But you DO have time for a leisurely glass of Madeira this afternoon?" he asked. "And perhaps some conversation... about your... day?"

Carolyn nodded. "My days are always the same. One thing after another. PTA, church meetings, school crossing guard duty, writing assignments, nothing unusual, really, Captain, but when you tell me your stories I feel wonderfully remote from all my normal chores and trivialities. I was hoping you might tell me another story or two..."

"You were?" The mariner looked pleased. "Of course... you would like that... Let's see, have I told you about the time my ship got caught in a gale of the coast of Newfoundland?"

"No, but I would love to hear about it."

When his tale ended, a silence fell between them for several minutes and began to press down, making both the lady and the ghost feel awkward. He broke it for a moment by asking if she would care for more Madeira, but once the glass was filled, neither knew what to say beyond "thank you," and "you are welcome."

Finally, the Captain began, "Madam—"

At the same moment, she gathered her courage and rushed to say, "Captain, I—" She stopped, her cheeks turning red. "I'm sorry, Captain. I interrupted you."

"No, Madam, I interrupted you. Speak on?"

"No, it's nothing. It can wait. You were saying?"

"I want to hear what you wished to say. It is the only gentlemanly thing to do, to defer to a lady."

"But it is also the lady's choice, Captain. You first. I insist."

The Captain rubbed his beard, thoughtfully.

"This could go on for a bit if neither of us is willing to speak."

"So — go ahead," she smiled.

"I... I was..."

"Yes?"

"I was wondering who you... that is, _when_ you would be starting this new assignment of yours?"

"Assignment?" she asked, blankly.

Fingering his earlobe, the Captain looked away, "Yes, the fascinating fellow that Jonathan and Candy were so enthused over last night. The one who will keep you occupied during Spring Break, and for some time to come?" He turned back toward her beautiful face.

"Oh..." she nodded. _"That_ assignment."

"Yes. That one. The fellow must be captivating if the children seem so interested in him, and you wish to write about him to begin with."

"Well, I..." She stopped for a moment. "The children... well, that is, they..."

"Yes?"

"They jumped the gun a little bit there. The fact is, I don't even know whether or not he wants to... get involved in a project right now, or..."

"Or what?"

"If he thinks I can write well." Her eyes dropped to her lap.

"Nonsense," the seaman shook his head. "You are a very good writer."

Carolyn smiled, and reached for a notebook beside her on the love seat he hadn't noticed until that moment.

"Do you really think so? I've collected what I like to think are my best stories to show, but..."

The Captain reached for the book. After reading several entries while she looked on nervously, he favored her with his steady gaze. "You have nothing to be on edge about. I have never doubted your caliber of writing, despite it needing some technical support in the matters of nautical terminology. What you have shown me here upholds my belief. If this fascinating fellow..." He tried, but did not quite manage to keep the edge of scorn from his tone on the last two words, "...dissents, he is an idiot."

"He MIGHT have reasons to refuse to get involved," Carolyn said, a troubled look still marring her beautiful face. "The story — well, it's not really a story— "

"What is it, then?"

"Well, it might be more like a book, really. His biography, I suppose you could say, and..."

"You want to write a whole book with someone?" The seaman's shoulders sagged. _So much for ME asking her anything..._" I see. And whom did you wish to write this book about? Someone you admire very much, no doubt."

"Very much."

Daniel frowned. _She must truly care for this blighter to want to expend so much effort and to worry so greatly before the thing is even begun. _"I can see no reason why he would not agree, and I wish you all the best in this... endeavor. I will regret the... loss of your company, but you do have more than yourself to think of. I only hope this man is worth your time."

"I think it COULD be, if only he will say yes," Carolyn sighed, her green eyes now gazing into the Captain's blue ones. "It is going to take a lot of time; evenings, weekends, and all of it arranged around my normal work schedule. I have a feeling I am going to need a larger coffee pot!" She gave another small sigh. "My subject could most likely dictate twenty four hours at a stretch, if he wanted to. I just don't know if he will say yes. He might consider the whole project a "bloody bore" — or "frivolous" — or what I am really afraid of is he won't want to let me poke over all his logs, journals, and such." The beautiful woman bit her lower lip. _Blast. I didn't mean to say logs. Not yet. _Looking away, she put her wine glass down on the low table in front of them.

Very gently, Daniel said, "Until you ask, you will not know, though if you are considering such a commitment, then surely you have some idea of his feelings?" He hesitated. "Now, what did you wish to ask me?"

"I..."

"You are hesitant? Still? More Madeira, my dear?" the seaman asked, trying to keep the moment light.

"Ah, no thank you. I still have some. Ah, Captain?" she asked, turning back to him. "Before I ask you, what were you going to ask me?"

"It was nothing important."

"You never ask unimportant questions."

"Thank you for that," he replied with a hint of rue as he poured more Madeira into their glasses. "Without knowing it, you DID answer my question. Now, your news?"

"It's not news. Not yet. It won't be news unless I get an answer to my question, and I don't know if I can ask it." Her face turned troubled again. The Captain counted to ten, waiting for her to continue.

"Madam, please speak."

"D-Captain, how are you fixed for free time? I mean, you don't have any reason to be called away from Gull Cottage, do you? One of your Spectral Fraternity trips, or anything? And are your logs and charts all caught up now?"

Favoring her with a truly puzzled stare, he nodded. "Well enough, Madam. I am no baby-sitter, but should you require someone to keep a watchful eye on Jonathan and Candy, I do enjoy spending time with them."_ Blast. I will miss those two almost as much as their mother, when the time comes for the family to move on..._

"Oh, I don't want you to baby-sit. I wouldn't ask you to do that. We got that straightened out after Algae visited, didn't we?" She flashed a genuine smile. "You don't know how badly I wanted to turn that little adventure into a story of some kind... but who would believe it? Besides... Claymore would be really irritated if I even hinted toward his part in the whole thing, and I don't want him mad at me, just now."

"Why not? He did seal-nap, and try to keep our little friend as a sideshow attraction, and besides, that barnacle is continually angry at, or afraid of me, and I certainly wouldn't let him take anything out on you."

"Well, it's about the mem... never mind," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "He's not who I really need to be talking to anyway. Not yet. I am such a..."

"You don't plan on calling yourself names, now do you, Mrs. Muir?"

"No, Captain," Carolyn answered, feeling her cheeks turn warm again. "I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to ask you..."

"Go on, please."

"I was wondering if you felt like — uhm — helping me... no that's not the right word... co-auth... No, that's not the right word either, blast it... never mind... Didn't you say there was something you wanted to ask me before?"

"Yes, but I told you before, it will keep," he frowned. "Mrs. Muir, I have never seen you so unwilling to speak your mind or ask a question. Just say it," he encouraged her, admirably refraining from muttering anything about "dithering females." He doubted that he really wanted to hear her words, but having the suspense end would be a relief.

"Well, it's just that I got this idea... that is, Martha and I were talking, and..."

She was cut off by a knock — closer to pounding, really — on the attic door, and before either of them could say another word, Candy and Jonathan burst into the room.

"Did you ask him?" Candy blurted out.

"Isn't it neat, Captain?" Jonathan beamed.

"Is WHAT neat?" the seaman asked, looking slightly confused.

"Candy! Jonathan!" Carolyn scolded. "How often have I told you that my... conferences with the Captain are private? Besides, I haven't..."

"_Mooommmm," _Candy rolled her eyes. "You've been up here for more than an hour! It's almost suppertime! You mean you haven't told the Captain your idea yet?"

"I thought you two would be working on the first chapter by now," Jonathan put in.

"First chapter? First chapter of what?" the Captain's eyebrows drew together as he looked from Candy's face to Jonathan's.

"Your memoirs!" both children burst out.

"You mean you didn't know?" Jonathan demanded.

"Mom! You changed your mind? You didn't ask him?" Candy queried. "Why? It was a great idea. I started working on a picture of the Captain's ship for the cover already, and everything..." The girl broke off, and her lower lip started to tremble. "Captain, maybe YOU can write your story and Mom can just take it to a publisher somewhere when you are done."

"Candy!" Jonathan cut in. "I told you if you get a picture in the Captain's book that I do, too!"

The little girl shook her head, and then glanced first at her mother and then the spirit before her. "It doesn't matter. I guess there isn't going to be a book... or is there?" she continued, hopefully.

"WHAT BOOK?!?" Daniel almost bellowed.

"Why, YOUR book," Jonathan replied simply. "The one you are going to write with Mom."

Still looking at sea, Daniel turned his head to look at Mrs. Muir. "Madam, what is going on?"

"I'm afraid Candy and Jonathan have beaten me to the punch," Carolyn answered with a wry smile. "You see, I have already talked to them about this — I wanted to make sure they wouldn't have a problem with it first. Captain, I want to write... I wanted to write your..."

"She wants to write your memoirs!" Candy and Jonathan said together.

"And we said it was okay with us if she spends a lot of time with you to write them, and everything, and it's even okay if we don't see YOU as much," Candy went on.

"As long as we get to listen to your stories at least once in a while," Jonathan put in. "Like we always have."

"Me, too?" came another voice from the doorway.

"Martha!" The children looked up. "Come on in. You didn't miss anything. The Captain hasn't even said yes yet."

"Only because Mom didn't ask him right," Candy added, matter-of-factly.

"I'm asking now," Carolyn smiled. "Captain, will you let me — that is, can we try writing your memoirs? Both of us?" she blushed slightly. "Together?"

"You could put me down for the first copy, hot off the presses," Martha grinned. "I'd love to find out more about you, Captain."

It was one of those rare moments when the spirit looked completely flabbergasted. "That was the important question? The man Jonathan said you would be busy with — was myself? Not someone else?"

Now, it was Carolyn's turn to seem perplexed. "I've been trying to find the courage to ask you for a couple of days now. I know you value your privacy, but I would only write what you were comfortable with, I promise."

"Mrs. Muir..." Daniel paused and looked at the excited faces of his family. "I think it is a fine idea... truly inspired, actually. I'm all for it."

"Just like that?" Carolyn said, her eyes getting big. "You agree? You really want to do this? You don't think it wouldn't be invading your privacy?"

"Now why would I think that?" the Captain smiled back at her. "Any number of seamen wrote their memoirs after retiring. I meant to, but I... well you know what happened. If we could write them together now, it would mean a great deal to me. The idea of truly collaborating with you again means more than I can possibly say right now." Daniel stopped speaking then, but Carolyn could feel the seaman's eyes on her.

"That's what I told Mrs. Muir, Captain!" Martha grinned. "I knew she was worrying over nothing!" she paused, and turned to Candy and Jonathan. "Come on kids. Up and at 'em. I would like you both to set the table for dinner. With no arguing." Then she turned back to her employer. "How long do you think it will take you two to get moving on this deal? I need to make a trip into town tomorrow and stock up on, let's see — coffee, for sure — whatever kind of pipe tobacco you like, Captain. Typing paper, erasers, notebook paper..." She broke off. "I need to make a list."

"We can start almost at once, as far as I'm concerned, my dear," Daniel answered. "I could start making notes now..."

"Maybe AFTER supper?" Jonathan asked, looking up at his hero. "I'm starved."

"I can't say I blame you, Jonathan!" Martha grinned, and stood. "I made pot-roast tonight, by way of a celebration — I was thinking positive, you see. Will you join us for dinner again, Captain?"

"I'd be delighted, dear lady."

"I hope you have enough cake for dessert, Martha!" the boy added.

"Jonathan!" Candy rolled her eyes, wondering why brothers had ever been invented to begin with.

"I think that could be arranged!" Carolyn laughed, a mixture of happiness and relief in her tone, and together, the Captain and his crew headed for the attic door.

XXX

The children were almost too excited to go to bed when the time came, but they finally agreed that the project would get moving more rapidly if everyone got a good night's sleep. After tucking them in, the ghost and Mrs. Muir paused outside their door. Carolyn looked up at him. "You never did say what you wanted to ask me, Captain."

Tugging his ear, he looked almost sheepish. "My dear Aunt Violet was rather fond of saying that great minds think alike. You proved it today, Madam. I have been considering asking you to write my memoirs, but did not think you had the time."

For a moment, her eyes searched his face, trying to see if that was the whole story. Then, she smiled. "I'd say that's a good omen for our partnership, then."

"Indeed, my dear. Now, you are not one to follow the "do as I say, not as I do" principle. You need your sleep as well. We have a great deal of work ahead of us, and I want my partner to be ready for the project."

With a small laugh, she saluted him. "Aye, aye, sir."

XXX

Deciding to get the most unpleasant part of her task out of the way first, the next morning Carolyn stopped at Claymore's on the way home from dropping the kids off at school. After explaining what she and the Captain would be doing, she asked if she might have any old papers or a family Bible, if there was one, to help with the memoirs.

"The Captain is very eager to get on with this project," she added subtly.

"Memoirs, you say... Hmm..." Claymore Gregg turned away from Carolyn for a moment, tapping his pen on his chin. "Daniel Gregg's memoirs... You know, it's amazing, Mrs. Muir, how truly GREAT minds run it the same direction!" Carolyn nodded slightly, remembering the Captain's similar comment the previous day, and wondered what was cooking in her landlord's brain. "I, myself was considering the very same idea, only recently...um-hum! Yes, indeed!" Claymore turned back to face her.

"Oh..." she nodded. "Well, as I said, anything you have in the files on that period would be helpful. You know, ships logs, letters...maps, and..."

"...And other memorabilia," he interrupted her. "I just love that word... let me say it again, please... _memorabilia._ I shall be delighted to help, Mrs. Muir!" he added, much to Carolyn's surprise, and he went on speaking. "After all, I am the Captain's nephew, and I should do it out of family pride, loyalty and affection." He sat down at his desk, facing Carolyn and placed his bookkeeper's visor over his balding pate. "Exactly what kind of a deal did you have in mind?"

"Family pride, loyalty, and affection sounds good," Carolyn added, surveying him cynically.

"Oh, I wasn't just thinking of the MONEY, Mrs. Muir..." Claymore went on, his eyes squinting. "Uh huh — there are other things in life besides money..."

_Oh, really now?_ was the first thought that came to Carolyn's mind, and she leaned on the other side of the desk, placing her hands on her chin. "Such as, Claymore?"

"Fame." His answer was immediate. "I'd like some fame, Mrs. Muir! How would you react to my being the co-author of your book?"

"Badly. Besides, there are really already two authors now. Me and the Captain."

"Oh. Well, I can see Spook-Face wouldn't want me writing with you, guys..." Claymore meditated a moment. "Well, how about a three-page dedication? With, you know, the usual "With Special Thanks To?"

Carolyn shook her head again. "I don't think so."

"A nice forward?" Claymore tried again. "With a little something on the dust jacket, perhaps? Like my picture?"

Carolyn shook her head once more.

"JUST a forward? With just a replica of my signature?"

"I'm afraid not, Claymore."

"Mrs. Muir..." He leaned further across the desk, fixing his beady eyes on hers. "Let us put our... parchments... on the table, so to speak. You NEED that memorabilia."

"Uh-hm," Carolyn nodded, lifting her eyebrow. "But you know, Claymore, it is really a shame... the Captain is going to be SO disappointed when hears that you won't _cooperate..."_ She paused for a moment and let that image sink in. It didn't take long.

"Oh... The Captain!" The mere mention of an angry ghost set Claymore back a pace. "Very well, Mrs. Muir... back to family pride, loyalty..."

"...And affection," Carolyn joined in. "Thank you, Claymore. Now the Captain IS expecting me, so if you wouldn't mind..."

"Oh, er, right. I — I know exactly where they are. In my files under 'S'."

"S?"

"For Spooky," he explained. As he pulled a Bible and some other papers from his file cabinet and handed them over, he started again. "Now, really, Mrs. Muir, I..."

"Good-bye, Claymore," she nodded to him, wishing she could pop. "I'll let you know how it's going, as soon as... I know."

It was the least she could do.

XXX

The Captain met her at the door. "I thought you would be home sooner."

"I had to stop and pick up some papers and things of yours from Claymore," she said, by way of explanation.

The ghost took her bundle. "My family Bible… and some of my logs! But, not the one I was looking for." He frowned. "If that numbskull thinks I'll ever return any of these, he had best think again!"

Carolyn just smiled. "Are you ready to go to work?" she asked, as they climbed the stairs together.

"More than ready, my dear. I have most of my notes organized and ordered for your perusal."

She stopped to give him an admiring look. "You work fast."

The Captain grinned. "You are not the first woman to say so, but I did say I had been considering this."

"Yes. But I almost had thought there was something else..."

"Oh?" He kept his face inscrutable.

"...But, I guess thinking of sharing your life with someone is worth being on edge about."

For a second, it looked to Carolyn as if he _might_ reach out and touch her, but the moment passed, and Captain Gregg simply nodded. "Oh, yes, Madam. But, there is no one else I would consider doing so with."


End file.
